


Rudeness and Sarcasm...

by TheDarkMetalLady



Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, Incorrect Quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 03:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkMetalLady/pseuds/TheDarkMetalLady
Summary: The Hootsman attends an event and witnesses a few insults between the Crown Prince of Fife and an immortal hermit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post.](https://tellmeoflegends.tumblr.com/post/187522439328/polskas-metal-obsession-tellmeoflegends)
> 
> I do not own the Gloryhammer characters. Please note that this story is about the _characters represented by the band members_ and **not** about the band members themselves.

Despite having been King for many, many years, the Hollywood Hootsman had never really enjoyed formal dinners. Sure, he attended them, but that was more because he had to and less because he enjoyed them. He couldn’t even get drunk during them! At least the food was good and no one particularly cared if he stole some expensive alcohol at the end so he could get drunk later. 

Unfortunately, today’s dinner was among the worst of its type. Not only was there no alcohol in sight, but he was also surrounded by many foreign faces, most of whom were either attempting to lick up to him to gain his favor or planning his assassination. There were very few familiar faces at the event, and those few faces were, unfortunately, seated on the other side of the table and a few seats over. 

Purposefully ignoring the ramblings of a foreign senator about how California would benefit from trade with one of the foreign lands (what land was it again? Oklahoma? Ohio? One of the forgettable ones he was planning to conquer eventually), the Hootsman focused on listening to what must be a riveting conversation between two of his only allies at this dinner -- Angus McFife XIII, the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Fife; and Ralathor, the mysterious hermit of Cowdenbeath (or whatever city the hermit chose this time the Hootsman could barely keep track). The two appeared to be arguing, in fact, which was not uncommon considering that the prince was a young and energetic spitfire and the hermit had a quiet but sharp bite. What they were arguing about, Hoots had no clue; it made it no less entertaining. It looked like he tuned in at the perfect timing, too, for the argument had dissolved into nothing but throwing insults, which was always the best part. 

“Well aren’t you sugar and spice and everything nice?” The hermit remarked at one point after the prince said a particularly sharp and perhaps out-of-place insult.

“Oh yeah?” Angus challenged. “And aren’t you rudeness and sarcasm and…” The prince trailed off, a realization hitting him. “Oh… oh dear…”

“No, go ahead,” Ralathor encouraged almost smugly. “If you can find a word that rhymes with ‘sarcasm’ and have it make sense, I’ll let you have this one.” 

It earned a frown and growl of frustration from the prince, who was deeply concentrating, trying to think of something and refusing to back down. Ralathor sat back, still smug with victory, and picked up his goblet, taking a sip. The hermit didn’t really notice the moment that a realization seemed to dawn over the prince. 

Hoots did, though, and he shoved aside the senator who had been speaking at him; he  _ had _ to hear this, no matter how good or bad it was.

“And you, Ralathor,” the prince began confidently, getting the hermit’s attention once more, “rudeness and sarcasm and the  _ exact opposite of an orgasm. _ ”

The Hootsman’s laugh seemed to echo through the dining hall; meanwhile, next to Angus, the hermit half choked on his drink in shock. 

It appeared that all of the prince’s propriety and formality had gone out the window. Not that the Hootsman could complain, especially when it also gave him an excuse to ditch the senators under the ruse of “I must go see if the hooded twig is well.” (Ralathor would undoubtedly not appreciate being called a twig, but Hoots had faced the hermit’s anger over far worse insults than this over the past thousand years.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hootsman recounts the story to Proletius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I had to add more from [this amazing post](https://tellmeoflegends.tumblr.com/post/187522439328/polskas-metal-obsession-tellmeoflegends) .

The Hootsman was sitting in the courtyard of the mighty citadel of Dundee, relaxing and drinking a beer while recounting stories to the hologram hero of light, Ser Proletius, the esteemed Grand Master of the Spaceknights of Crail. 

“He said  _ what _ !?” Proletius asked with a laugh of disbelief. “You’re lying to me, Hoots. You are  _ lying _ .”

“He did say that!” the Hootsman exclaimed. “I swear on my beard, he did say that!” And he seldom swore on his godly beard. 

“And what did Ralathor say?”

“He was too busy choking on his drink to respond!”

Proletius huffed another laugh. “With that, His Majesty was lucky indeed.”

“Absolutely,” Hoots agreed. 

Proletius was about to speak once more, changing the topic of conversation, but the Hootsman’s hearing picked up on something in the distance, and he quickly motioned for Proletius to stay quiet.

From the distance, there were approaching footsteps, accompanied by a pair of slightly raised voices. 

“I’m trying to keep you alive!”

“So that gives you the right to ruin my fun!?”

“You are  _ insufferable _ .”

“And you’re a party pooper!”

Hoots and Proletius shared a glance, the knight looking confused and the barbarian looking humored, as Prince Angus McFife XIII stormed into the courtyard, followed two steps behind by an exhausted and So Done ™ hermit. 

“Is everything alright?” The holographic knight asked.

“Yes,” Ralathor said.

“No, Angus replied almost simultaneously.”

Ralathor gave the Prince a tired glare.

“What’s wrong, Prince Angus?” The Hootsman asked, purposefully taking the bait.

“Ralathor has been just… ugh,” Angus complained. “I swear, he’s rudeness and sarcasm and--”

“Do  _ not _ finish that statement,” Ralathor threatened ominously, cutting off the prince.

“Rudeness and sarcasm and… hmmm…” Proletius repeated, thinking to himself.

The prince got an idea, though. “Rudeness and sarcasm and murderer of my enthusiasm!” 

Ralathor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could have been worse,” he muttered to himself, trying to see the bright side.

Proletius shrugged. “I would have gone for, ‘rudeness and sarcasm and victim of a back spasm,’” he commented. 

Hoots snorted slightly with a laugh.

Angus grinned at Proletius while Ralathor leveled Proletius with a glare that could be interpreted vaguely as a threat to turn off the hologram. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no regrets.
> 
> Want to see some of my other works or request a story? Check out my tumblr [here](https://thedarkmetallady.tumblr.com/) and my prompt and request rules [here](https://thedarkmetallady.tumblr.com/PromptAndRequestRules).

**Author's Note:**

> I have no regrets.
> 
> Want to see some of my other works or request a story? Check out my tumblr [here](https://thedarkmetallady.tumblr.com/) and my prompt and request rules [here](https://thedarkmetallady.tumblr.com/PromptAndRequestRules).


End file.
